Celia Leighton Thaxter ( 1 of 1 )
Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sand-piper and I;
And fast I gather, bit by read more
Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sand-piper and I;
And fast I gather, bit by bit.
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry,
The wild waves reach their hands for it.
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sand-piper and I.
